When You Call My Name
by MidnightBlue88
Summary: Oneshot, Brian’s POV. After detention, Brian and Andy lean on one another for support and relief from their stifling family situations. As the months go on, they find that their bond is deeper than they realized. AndyBrian friendship, eventual slash.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Breakfast Club.  
**Rating: **T for language and adult situations.  
**Warning: **This story includes slash, a romantic relationship between two guys. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don't read. The slash element is not very graphic, and there is no sexual content.  
**Summary: **Oneshot, Brian's POV. After detention, Brian and Andy lean on one another for support and relief from their stifling family situations. As the months go on, they find that their bond is deeper than they realized. Andy/Brian friendship, eventual slash.  
**A/N: **This is my first time writing slash for this fandom. I love the canon couples, I really do, but I thought it would be interesting to explore what other relationships would be like. I have always loved Andy and Brian's relationship in the film, and I could always imagine them being good friends after detention. So, to me, the jump from friendship to something deeper isn't totally unbelievable. I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope that you enjoy reading it. Thanks so unbelievably much to Lori, who beta-ed this for me and let me babble about it, even though she had more important things to do with her time, and Pam, who was my fresh pair of eyes. I really appreciate it.

* * *

**When You Call My Name**

* * *

Brian thought about the Breakfast Club all weekend. 

He tried to focus on other things--namely, homework--but then he would remember dancing with Andy and Bender on the railing or watching Allison make her cereal and pixie stick sandwich, and his mouth would curl into a smile without him even realizing it. His mom caught him doing it a few times, and it must have freaked her out, because she would always ask what was wrong, even though he was smiling. He told her that nothing was wrong, that he was just remembering something that he saw on television, but he'd always been a pretty bad liar and she didn't look like she believed him. She watched him closely all weekend, probably searching for signs that he had gone crazy.

If she only knew.

On Monday morning, Brian didn't really know what to expect. He wasn't looking for a big reunion on the school steps or anything like that, but he did hope that _something_ would happen. He hated to think that they had walked away from one another that day, only for it to be the end of everything they had started in detention. It seemed wrong somehow, that nothing would happen. He didn't even want to think about it.

But when the first three periods passed and Brian still hadn't seen any of the others, he started to panic a little bit. He didn't have any classes with them, he knew, and the school was pretty big, so the chances of him running into any of them were pretty slim. How were you supposed to be friends with someone--no, _four _someones--if you never even saw them?

He went through the day in a fog, obsessing over what would happen if he never saw any of them again. Then finally, right before the last period of the day, he ran into Claire. She was standing at her locker, surrounded by girls that wouldn't give him a second glance if he offered them a million dollars and a shoe shine, and she was completely oblivious to his presence. He watched her for a minute, knowing that he couldn't walk up and say hello, but wondering if they were ever going to talk to one another again. He was just about to give up and continue on his way to class when she looked up and their eyes met.

She looked stunned at first, like she wasn't sure what to do, but then she smiled. It wasn't a wide, excited smile. In fact, it was kind of sad. To Brian, it said, "It's good to see you, and I wish I could say hello…but I can't." Brian tried to understand. He tried not to feel like everything he'd hoped for had just been shoved back into his face, even though it had. He nodded briefly in her direction and continued down the hall.

And that, Brian realized, was the end of that.

* * *

It wasn't until Friday afternoon that he ran into Andy.

He'd seen him, of course, in the halls between classes, in the cafeteria eating with his friends. Brian had seen all of them at some point during the week, except for Allison, who had remained elusive. He'd seen Claire talking with her friends, Bender getting a drink from the water fountain right next to the boys' bathroom, Andy putting books away in his locker. None of them had noticed him, and he hadn't had the guts to walk up to them and say hi, so nothing had happened.

On Friday afternoon, there wasn't anyone else in the hall. Brian had just come out of a Physics Club meeting and was on his way outside to begin the long walk home. He was passing by the gymnasium, headed for the door leading to the school's west entrance, when the locker room door burst open and Andy walked out.

The boys stood there for a moment, both of them surprised. Finally, Andy said, "Hey."

Brian nodded. "Hey."

Andy adjusted the strap of his gym bag, which was slung over one shoulder. "What are you doing here so late?" he asked.

"I just got out of a Physics Club meeting," he answered. "We've been talking about the banquet, which is next month, and there's still a bunch of stuff we have to do, so…" He trailed off, realizing that Andy probably wouldn't care what a bunch of geeks like him talked about in their spare time. "I guess you just came from practice, huh?"

Andy nodded. "I've got a big meet tomorrow."

"Oh, right." Brian nodded. "I hope you, uh, I hope you win."

Andy sighed. "Yeah, thanks." He paused. "You need a ride?"

"Oh." Brian hesitated. "Yeah, that would be okay. I mean, that would be great, thanks."

Andy's Bronco was parked out in the senior parking lot along with a handful of other cars, most of them probably belonging to cheerleaders or athletes. The members of the Physics Club didn't have cars, except for Jason Norris, who drove his grandmother's old Volvo, with an AARP sticker on the bumper and a gilded cross dangling from the rearview mirror.

"Are you hungry?" Andy asked when they'd both climbed in.

Brian shrugged. "Um, sort of."

Andy put the Bronco into gear and eased it out of the parking lot. "Do you want to go get something?"

It took Brian a minute to realize that Andy was asking if he wanted to go with _him_. "Oh…okay."

"What do you like?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter."

Andy pulled into the parking lot at Burger King and cut the engine. They walked in together, and Andy ordered one of everything on the menu, or so it seemed. Brian ordered chicken nuggets and a small Coke.

They found a booth by the window, and Andy immediately dug into his cheeseburger. "So, how is shop going?" he asked, not even bothering to swallow his food first.

Brian glanced up, surprised. "Oh, it's, uh…" He thought back to his conversation with Mr. Douglas, the shop teacher, earlier that week. "I can't make up the assignment, but he's going to let me turn in some extra credit to help boost my grade."

Andy nodded. "What'd your parents say?"

Brian froze. "About what?"

Andy must have noticed the change in Brian's demeanor, because he suddenly looked very serious. "About the grade," he clarified.

"Oh." Brian let out a deep breath. "I, uh, I haven't told them yet." He laughed, but it came out forced. "I guess there's really not a good time to, you know, to say something like that."

Andy nodded slowly, watching him. "Yeah." Then he leaned forward and took another bite of his burger.

"What about your parents?" Brian asked. "How is everything with your dad?"

Andy shrugged. "Same. He's been on my case about the meet tomorrow. He's worried I'm going to blow it."

Brian frowned. "Why?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "He's always worried I'm going to blow it. He thinks they're going to take away my scholarship."

"Scholarship?"

Andy nodded. "Ohio State. Full ride."

Brian lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Really? Wow, congratulations."

"Thanks." His voice was so flat that it sounded like he was accepting the comment on someone else's behalf. Brian decided to change the subject.

"So, have you, uh, have you seen any of the others?"

Andy nodded. "I talked to Claire the other day. She's on the Prom Committee, so she's really busy."

Brian nodded. "What about Bender?"

Andy shrugged. "Haven't seen him."

Brian hesitated. "Allison?"

Andy paused. "Yeah, I saw her."

Brian watched him. "Yeah?"

Andy nodded. He started to say something, then stopped himself and reached into the pocket of his letter jacket. He pulled something out and handed it to Brian. It was a circular letter jacket patch with the words "State Champion" written in red and gold.

Brian frowned. "What is this?"

Andy looked up, surprised. "Oh. She, uh…" He smiled briefly, as if he was amused by something. "She took it from me on Saturday, just before we left."

"Oh." Brian turned it over in his hand. "How'd you get it back?"

"She _gave_ it to me," Andy said shortly, taking it back and stuffing it into his pocket. "I found it in my locker yesterday."

Brian paused. "Oh…sorry."

Andy shook his head. "Whatever," he muttered.

But Brian could tell that it bothered him more than he was going to admit. If he was honest, it bothered him, too. Of all of the others, Brian had believed that Allison would be the one most likely to stay friends with them on Monday. "Us weirdos," he'd called them. Apparently Allison didn't see it that way. Apparently she'd decided that it wasn't worth it. Brian didn't know who he was more angry with, her for letting them down or him for believing her.

Andy finished eating relatively quickly, considering how much he'd ordered. While he finished the last of his fries, he told Brian all about the match he had the next day. Something about how if he won this one, he'd go on to the state quarter-finals or semi-finals or…something big. Brian didn't understand most of it, despite Andy's explanations, but he did gather that it was an important meet and that a lot was riding on his performance.

"Are you nervous?"

Andy looked up from his tiny pile of French fries, the last of his snack. "What?"

"Are you nervous?" Brian repeated. "About the meet."

Andy paused, then shrugged. "I don't know. Not really."

But there was something forced about his nonchalance, and Brian realized, with a start, that Andrew Clark was nervous. Nervous about losing. Nervous about letting people down. Nervous about failing. It shouldn't have come as such a shock after his confession in detention, but for some reason, Brian was still surprised.

"I'm sure you'll do great," he reassured him.

Andy nodded stiffly. "Thanks."

Brian nodded. "Sure."

There was an awkward pause, and then Andy glanced over at Brian's tray. "You going to eat that?"

Brian frowned and looked down. There was a chicken nugget wedged down in the bottom of the box. He hadn't even noticed it was there. He shook his head and pushed the tray closer.

Andy tossed the nugget into his mouth. "Thanks."

* * *

The next week passed rather quickly. Brian was too busy with schoolwork to think about much else, which was probably for the best since most likely he would have just ended up thinking of the Breakfast Club, or what was left of it. He took a couple of quizzes and finished his extra credit assignment for shop, a paper on different wood-working techniques. The grade didn't quite boost his average up to an A, but at least he wasn't failing anymore. His mother wouldn't be satisfied with that, but there wasn't much that she was satisfied with anyway, so he tried not to let it bother him.

He saw Claire in the hallway again, and she gave him a warm smile, but didn't say anything. She was holding a bunch of posters advertising prom tickets, and she was surrounded by a group of girls who were all clamoring for her attention. Brian tried not to be too disappointed, though he couldn't be sure that he succeeded.

It was harder to maintain that attitude with Bender. Brian passed him in the hall on Wednesday, and Bender looked right at him, _right_ at him, but didn't say anything. He could see the glimmer of recognition in his eyes, but there was something else, too. Something fiercer. Anger maybe, or contempt. Brian wondered if he was trying to maintain his tough guy attitude, or if he really just didn't give a shit in the first place.

Allison was the hardest. He hadn't seen her at all since detention, and everything he knew about her he'd learned from Andy. So, he wasn't prepared when he bumped into her, literally, on the staircase during lunch on Thursday. He was running an errand for Mr. Grey, the Physics Club sponsor, and thinking of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he still hadn't eaten. He didn't even notice Allison until he was right in front of her, tripping over her knapsack.

"Oh, I'm s--" When he realized that it was her, he stopped, staring at her.

She was sitting on the ledge in the middle of the staircase, holding a can of Coke. Her drawing folder was balanced on her knees, and she had a charcoal pencil in one hand. She was staring up at him with her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide with surprise and maybe a little bit of fear.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Allison kept staring at him for a few more seconds, then suddenly stood up, spilling a couple of her papers on the steps. She grabbed her Coke and her knapsack and started running up the staircase.

Brian watched her run, too surprised to call after her. When she was gone, he reached down and picked up the papers she'd dropped. They were drawings, of farm houses and mountains and riverbeds. Brian remembered sitting on the couch with her in detention, listening to her rattle off all of the places she would go when she finally got away from her life, and he hated himself for being angry with her. Carefully, he stacked the papers together and slid them into his backpack for safe keeping.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, he ran into Andy again. Brian was coming out of a Physics Club meeting, and Andy was standing at his locker, his hair wet and his face flushed with exertion. When he noticed Brian walking down the hall towards him, he nodded. "You hungry?"

They went to Burger King again and sat at the same table as they had the previous Friday. This time, Brian ordered a large Coke and two packs of chicken nuggets. Andy ordered his usual smorgasbord.

"Congratulations."

Andy looked up, frowning as he chewed. "Huh?"

"Your meet," said Brian. "I heard you won."

Andy nodded. "Oh, yeah…thanks." He leaned forward and took another bite of his cheeseburger, and a piece of tomato fell out. He frowned and picked it up, stuffing it back into the burger.

As he ate, Brian took a mental inventory of Andy's overflowing tray. Three orders of chicken nuggets, an extra-large order of fries, a matching order of onion rings, a small milkshake, a cheeseburger (half-eaten), and a large Coke. Brian looked down at his own tray, with his two orders of nuggets, and he wondered if maybe he shouldn't take a page from Andy's book when it came to his eating habits. Of course, if it was going to do him any good, he'd probably have to start working out, too. And he didn't really see that happening.

"What's wrong?"

Brian looked up to see that Andy was watching him. "Oh, nothing." He nodded at Andy's tray. "That's just, that's just a lot of food, you know?"

Andy nodded. "I have to have fuel. For wrestling and working out."

Brian nodded thoughtfully. "How often do you work out?"

Andy shrugged. "Every day. Sometimes two or three times."

Brian's eyes widened with surprise. "Three times a day?" he echoed.

Andy nodded and picked up a chicken nugget.

"Wow, that's…" Brian shook his head. "That's a lot of working out."

Andy nodded again. "Yeah."

"So, do you, like, do you get tired and stuff? Do you sleep a lot?"

Andy laughed. "I don't know. Sometimes."

Brian shook his head in disbelief. "I can't imagine doing that."

Andy paused thoughtfully, chewing on a nugget. When he swallowed, he said, "How long do you study every day?"

"Oh, uh…" Brian did a quick calculation. "I don't know, maybe four or five hours?"

Andy's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"

Brian nodded hesitantly. "Yeah. How long do you study?"

"Not _that _much."

Brian frowned. "Oh." For some reason, he assumed that most people spent hours on homework. He didn't know how they managed to pass all of their courses if they didn't.

Andy shook his head. "I think I would go crazy if I spent that much time on homework. Hell, it _already_ drives me crazy."

"What are you taking?" Brian asked.

Andy sighed and swallowed a mouthful of his burger. "Trigonometry, English, History…" He trailed off thoughtfully. "…German."

Brian couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Really? I love German!" He cleared his throat and prepared his best German accent. "Ich bin Brian!"

Andy just stared at him blankly. "What?"

Brian could feel his face heating up. God, he was such a nerd. "Oh, I just…I just said that my name is Brian. That's all."  
Andy nodded slowly. "Right."

Brian busied himself with his chicken nuggets, trying to ignore the fact that his cheeks were probably the color of his little sister's Barbie bedspread. And his ears.

"So, you really love that stuff, huh?"

Brian looked up to see that Andy was still watching him. "Oh, uh…"

"Like, science and foreign languages and reading and stuff," Andy said. "You really like it, huh?"

Brian paused, then shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes."

"Why just sometimes?"

Brian thought about it for a moment. "It's fun, you know, when I'm learning something because I want to. Like, when I read magazines about all of the new stuff they're discovering about the solar system and stuff like that." He glanced up to see if Andy looked bored, but he was just sitting really still, watching him talk. Brian cleared his throat. "That stuff, you know, that's really interesting. To me, at least."

Andy nodded slowly. "And when is it not interesting?"

Brian took a deep breath and let it out again. "I don't know. When my mom starts pressuring me to study and read things that I don't want to. It's not as fun."

Andy narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and Brian wondered if he'd said something wrong. "What?" he asked.

Andy shook his head. "Nothing. It's just…" He paused. "That's just how it is with me and wrestling. It used to be fun, and sometimes it still is, but when my dad starts yelling at me, it's not fun anymore."

Brian nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly.

The two of them lapsed into a thoughtful silence, and Brian finished up his chicken nuggets. He took small sips of Coke as Andy started in on his onion rings.

"So, what did you get for your birthday?" Andy asked a few minutes later.

Brian looked up. "My birthday?"

Andy nodded. "It was last month, right?"

Brian nodded, surprised he had remembered. "Yeah, it's, um, March twelfth."

"So, what did you get?" asked Andy, stuffing another onion ring into his mouth.

"Well, I got, uh…" Brian held out his hand, counting off the items on his fingers. "…a new watch--it's, uh, digital…some socks…and, uh, Hover Force."

Andy frowned. "What's Hover Force?"

"It's a video game. For my Intellivision console."

"No way! I've always wanted one of those!" Andy said, swallowing the last of his onion rings. "My dad said it was a waste of time and that it would make me lazy."

"You can come over sometime and play mine," Brian said, not even realizing what he was saying until the words were already out of his mouth. "I mean, you don't have to or anything. I'm sure that you--"

"Yeah, that would be cool," said Andy, wadding his napkin into a tight ball and tossing it onto his tray. "Do you have Pacman, like they have down at the arcade?"

Brian nodded. Pacman was his little sister's game, but he didn't tell Andy that. "Yeah, I do."

"Cool," said Andy. "Next time, we'll go over to your house and play that one."

Brian paused. "Next time?" he echoed. And then he realized that Andy meant next time they hung out. Which meant that he wanted to hang out again. Which meant that they were friends. Brian shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant. "Sure…next time."

Andy nodded and took a long sip from his Coke.

And so it began.

* * *

They didn't hang out much at school. It wasn't a matter of embarrassment, but rather of practicality. Brian was a junior, and Andy was a senior, which meant that they didn't have any classes together. They rarely saw one another, even in the halls between classes. Besides, both boys had friends that they spent most of their time with, and it was just easier to hang out after school than during.

It was strange to think of the two of them as friends. Andy was so popular at school that he was practically a celebrity, and Brian was just a nobody. The whole thing felt like some kind of unlikely fantasy, which was pretty much what detention had been in the first place. Brian kept waiting for the whole thing with Andy to fall apart, and it surprised him that it didn't. The weeks went on, and Andy continued to call him and talk to him and drive him places. It occurred to Brian that, for all of his high hopes that the Breakfast Club would stick together, he didn't have much faith in the long run that the others would really want to hang out with him. And they hadn't, except for Andy, who was arguably the unlikeliest of all to keep true to his word. Brian had expected Andy to stay in touch with Claire and possibly even Allison, and he didn't understand why, out of all the others, he was the only one that Andy spoke with on a regular basis. Sometimes, Andy would call out of the blue or stop by Brian's house to watch a movie, and it was all Brian could do not to open his mouth and say something stupid like, "Why are you here? Why do you want to hang out with me? Out of all the others, why did you pick _me_?"

He never said any of that, of course. He was a geek, and he lacked several of the social skills that would help label him otherwise, but he _did_ have enough sense to keep quiet about that.

Friday afternoons became a ritual. Andy took Brian to Burger King and taught him the joys of eating more than he should, and Brian invited Andy over to his house and showed him how to play video games on his Intellivision console. Andy's favorite was Burgertime, which Brian found highly ironic and infinitely amusing. The purpose of the game was to create rows of gigantic hamburgers while fighting off a host of evil villains with corny names like Mr. Hot Dog and Mr. Pickle. Brian wasn't sure if it was the fighting or the hamburgers that had Andy so entranced, but it sure was fun to watch.

One afternoon, in late April, the two of them were sitting in Brian's bedroom playing Mario Bros. Andy had managed to get to the fourth level, where he was dodging red fireballs and battling the shell creepers. He was doing well, but he was down to his last life, and the shell creepers were gaining on him.

"Come on!" he shouted, pulling so hard on the joystick that Brian worried he was going to break it off.

"Watch out, here comes the--" Brian started.

"Shit!" Andy muttered, tossing his controller onto the floor. "I hate those guys."

Brian nodded glumly. "You got really far that time, though."

"Yeah." He reached forward to reset the game. "You wanna play?"

Brian shrugged. "No, that's okay."

Andy sighed and leaned back until he was lying on the floor, flat on his back. He reached under the desk to grab Brian's little league baseball mitt, which Brian had found in his closet the week before and had, for some reason, forgotten to put it away. Andy put his hand partway inside and stared at the web of leather. Brian, who was sitting on the bed, just sat there and watched him.

"I don't want to go home," Andy said finally.

Brian paused. "Why not?"

Andy sighed. "My brother's home."

"Todd?"

Andy nodded.

"Oh." Todd was Andy's oldest brother, the one that taught high school basketball in Boston. From what he'd gathered, Todd was their father's favorite, the one he used as bait whenever Andy looked like he was ready to throw in the towel. "_None of my other boys acted like that! You think Todd thought about giving up? You think he was willing to throw away his scholarship because he just didn't think it was worth the effort? No, he hung in there, and look where he is now…"_

Brian had never even met Mr. Clark, but he hated him anyway.

"You can stay over here, if you want," he offered.

Andy shook his head. "I have to eat dinner with them."

"Oh." Brian didn't know what else to say, or if he was even supposed to say anything. Maybe he was just supposed to sit there and be quiet, and that's all Andy wanted from him. But Brian had never been very good at sitting still, and he didn't like feeling so helpless where his friends were concerned. Especially with Andy. He didn't know why it was different with him, just that it was. Maybe their time in detention, with all of their confessions and emotionally-charged conversations, had established a connection that he couldn't duplicate with the guys from the Physics Club.

Andy sighed and wedged his hand further into the mitt. "Did you play?"

Brian nodded. "For two years, until I was seven."

Andy was still staring at the mitt. "I used to play."

"Really?" Andy had only ever talked about wrestling, and Brian assumed that he had never played any other sports. "When?"

"Middle school," Andy answered. "When I got to high school, I quit so I could focus on wrestling."

Brian knew that what Andy meant to say was that his father _made_ him quit. He felt the anger building in his chest. It just wasn't fair.

"I was really good, too," Andy continued, hitting his fist softly into the tiny mitt. "I played first base, sometimes second. They had me batting cleanup."

"Cleanup?" Brian echoed. He wasn't familiar with the terminology. All he remembered about baseball was trying not to get hit by the ball and trying not to trip over his shoelaces when he ran towards first base.

Andy nodded. "That's the fourth position in the batting order. It's for the best batter. The first three guys get on base, and then the fourth guy comes up and hits a homer, so everybody scores."

"Does that happened every time?" Brian asked, bewildered.

Andy shook his head. "No, it's just what they hope happens."

"Oh."

Andy hit the glove again, gently so as not to damage it. His eyes were kind of soft and tired, like he was thinking about something. Brian just watched him, wishing he knew what he was supposed to say. Wishing he was good at stuff like that.

Finally, Andy sat up and took the glove off. "I should go."

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

Andy stood up, and they walked out into the hallway, then outside to Andy's Bronco, which was parked along the curb outside of Brian's house.

"See you later," said Brian hesitantly.

Andy nodded and climbed into the driver's seat. He started the engine, but didn't put it into 'Drive'. After a few seconds, he looked up at Brian. "Thanks."

Brian frowned. "For what?"

Andy shrugged. "Nothing, just…nothing."

Brian nodded, confused. "Okay."

Andy reached up to put the vehicle into gear. "See you later."

"Yeah, later." Brian watched him pull away from the curb, feeling strangely disappointed. He didn't know if it was for Andy's sake because he had to go eat dinner with his brother, or if it was for his own sake because Andy was gone.

When the Bronco disappeared around the corner, Brian let out a deep sigh and went back into the house.

* * *

Two days later, Brian's mom found out about the F.

He'd known that he was going to have to tell her about it sooner or later, and he had every intention of doing so, but every time he approached her about it, something in her face or the tone of her voice suggested that he should hold out for a better time. Once, it was because she was having a bad week at work, dealing with lazy and irresponsible co-workers, whom he'd heard all about at dinner that night. Then he approached her right as his little sister, Morgan, ran into the kitchen and announce to both of them that she'd spilled grape juice on the beige carpet in the living room. Then there was the time that he'd started talking to her while she was chopping vegetables for dinner. One glimpse of that knife and he was mumbling something about having "lots of homework to do" and escaping back to his bedroom.

But she did find out about it eventually, despite his cowardice. He came home from school one afternoon to find her sitting at the kitchen table with Morgan, who was eating her snack. Their mother was going through the mail, opening up envelopes and skimming the contents, then separating them into piles. Brian grabbed a glass of milk from the kitchen and sat down across the table from his sister.

"You look tired," Morgan told him, almost accusingly.

"I just got home from school," he said.

Morgan shoved a cracker into her mouth. "I gah tepee a ine eater a cool toray."

Brian frowned. "What?"

Morgan finished chewing and swallowed her cracker. "I said I got to be the line leader at school today."

"Oh." Brian took a sip of milk. "Did you have fun?"

Morgan nodded. "It was supposed to be my turn tomorrow, but Jamie was sick, so _I _got to be line leader instead." She took a sip of her juice and put the glass back on the table next to her plate. "Miss Williams says I'm one of the best line leaders in the class."

Brian tried to keep a straight face. "Really?"

Morgan nodded very seriously. "She said I always do a good job not to walk too fast or too slow."

Brian smiled. "I'm sure you're really--"

"Morgan, go to your room."

Surprised, Brian glanced over at his mother, who was looking down at a piece of paper in her hand. She didn't even look up at either of her children, just kept staring at it intently, clenching her jaw like she always did when she was either focusing intently or really angry. Brian shifted forward slightly and caught a glance of the Shermer High School's mascot in the upper left hand corner of the page. His report card. Brian's stomach lurched, and he looked down at the table.

"I haven't finished with my snack," said Morgan.

"Then take it with you."

Morgan sighed and stood from the table. A few seconds later, Brian and his mother were alone in the room.

"I was going to tell you," he said quietly, after a long moment of silence.

"Oh, really?" Her voice was tight with anger. "When, at your graduation?"

Brian took a deep breath. "No, I…I just--"

"You just _what_?" she demanded. "Two weeks ago, you told me you were making all A's in your classes. Did you know that you were making a C in shop?"

Brian swallowed. Actually, two weeks ago, he'd thought that he was failing, so technically the answer was no, but she definitely didn't need to know that. "Yes," he answered. "I knew."

"So, you lied to me?" she asked him. "Look at me!"

Brian looked up.

"Did you lie to me?" she repeated.

Brian's mouth was dry, and his voice cracked when he answered. "Yes," he said quietly.

His mother's eyes flashed with anger, and Brian forced himself not to look away. "I'll have to talk it over with your father, but you're probably grounded," she told him. "For at least two weeks."

Brian nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Johnson didn't look away, just kept watching him. After a moment, she sighed and dropped her eyes to the piece of paper in front of her. "Go to your room," she said tiredly.

Brian nodded obediently and stood from the table.

When his father got home that evening, Brian could hear the two of them talking in the kitchen, presumably about what an idiot he was if he was making a C in shop, of all classes. Brian stayed in his room working on his homework until his father came in to tell him that dinner was ready.

That night, dinner was a little more uncomfortable than usual. Mrs. Johnson, while she didn't ignore Brian, didn't go out of her way to make conversation with him either. Mr. Johnson kept the ball rolling by asking his daughter about school and his son about anything but school.

About halfway through the meal, the phone rang, and Brian got up to answer it. "Hello?"

"Brian, it's Andy."

For some reason, Brian was really glad that it was him. "Hey, man."

"What are you doing? I was going to see if you wanted to come over and play basketball."

"Oh, uh…" Brian glanced over his shoulder to see into the dining room, where his family was still eating dinner. His parents were within earshot, but just barely, and his father was deep into a story about one of the guys at his office. "I can't," he told him.

"Why not?"

"Well, I'm eating dinner, but--"

"Oh, sorry. What about after?"

"Well, uh…" Brian glanced back into the dining room. "I'm grounded," he whispered. As if it was some kind of secret.

"Grounded?" Andy echoed. "Why?" There was a pause, then, "Oh."

Brian sighed. "Yeah."

Andy was quiet for a minute, and Brian could hear him rustling around on the other line. Finally, he asked, "What time do they go to sleep?"

Brian frowned. "I don't know. About nine or so. Why?"

"I'll be over at ten. Keep the back gate unlocked." Then he hung up.

Brian stared at the phone for a few seconds, then slowly reached up to replace it on its cradle. When he returned to the dining room, his mother looked up from her plate. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Um, my friend Andy."

Mrs. Johnson furrowed her brow in concentration. "Is he the one that ate all of my blueberry muffins last week?"

Brian paused. "Uh, yeah."

Mrs. Johnson frowned, considering this piece of information. "He seemed nice," she said hesitantly.

Brian let out a deep breath and took a bite of his mashed potatoes.

Even though he was expecting him, Brian was still surprised when Andy knocked on his bedroom window at exactly ten o'clock that night.

"What are we doing?" Brian hissed. He was sitting on his bed, leaning out the window, and Andy was standing a few feet away, right in the middle of Mr. Johnson's vegetable garden.

"We're going to my house to play basketball," Andy answered.

"But I'm grounded!"

Andy rolled his eyes. "You told me that already."

Brian paused. "I can't get in trouble. If my parents find out, I--" He stopped, unwilling to think about that possibility.

Andy was watching him closely, and Brian could see him soften a bit. "You're not going to get in trouble," he assured him. "We won't even be gone that long."

Brian regarded him carefully. "You promise?"

Andy nodded, his eyes never leaving Brian's. "Promise."

Brian sighed. "Fine, let's go."

* * *

He didn't get caught.

They stayed over at Andy's house for the better part of two hours, playing basketball. Andy taught him the basics, like dribbling and shooting and guarding, and both of them were pleasantly surprised to find that Brian didn't completely suck at the sport. In fact, his height was a definite advantage, and he had pretty good aim once he got used to the weight and feel of the ball. They played a one-on-one for a while, not keeping score, just goofing off. As they played, they talked about movies and music and which TV detectives they liked best. Gradually, the pressure in Brian's chest loosened. After a while, he forgot about the F and his grades and his parents, and he gave in and let himself have fun.

It was kind of nice.

* * *

Two weeks later, Andy came in second place at the State Finals.

His father, of course, wasn't entirely happy about it. He was hoping Andy would repeat the previous year's performance and win the whole thing. The only thing that saved Andy from a full-blown lecture about giving up and working harder was the fact that he had already been offered a full scholarship to a major university, and they weren't about to jerk it out from under him for second place. Mr. Clark gave him a half-hearted clap on the back and said something about training harder for the next one, and that was that.

Brian wasn't there to see any of this, but he heard about it from Andy on the night he got back from Chicago, where he'd spent the weekend while the tournament was going on. He called Brian on Sunday night, just after dinner.

"I came in second."

Brian's eyebrows went up. "Really? Wow, that's great."

Andy paused. "You think so?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I got first last year."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Brian smiled. "You're the second best wrestler in Illinois!" The idea of being the second best in the state at _anything _seemed huge to Brian, who hadn't even placed at the regional science fair, despite the hours of work he'd poured into his project.

Andy sighed. "Yeah."

Brian waited for Andy to say something else, and when he didn't, Brian cleared his throat. "So, what are you doing right now?"

"Nothing."

Brian paused. "Want to come over and play Burgertime?"

There was a moment of silence, and then he thought he heard Andy laugh. "Yeah…that sounds good."

* * *

The rest of the semester went by in a blur. Brian spent most of his free time at the library or in his bedroom studying. His mother spent most of her time looking over his shoulder, making sure he didn't screw anything else up.

Claire won prom queen. Brian wasn't there, of course, since he was a junior, but he saw her in the hallway on Monday morning after the dance. She was surrounded by her usual group, and she was smiling widely, laughing at some joke that he probably wouldn't understand since he wasn't popular _or_ a girl. They chatted for a few seconds until the group disbanded, leaving Claire alone at her locker. She put her books away, then stopped and turned, glancing over her shoulder. At first, Brian worried that she'd noticed him watching her, and he was prepared to be very embarrassed, but then he realized that she wasn't looking at him at all. In fact, she wasn't looking at anything. She was just standing there, staring blankly out over the hallway as dozens of students walked past her on their way to class. For the first time since detention, Brian noticed the circles under her eyes, and he wondered if her active social life wasn't starting to take its toll.

He never ran into Bender again, but he did see him fairly often, smoking cigarettes with his friends on the bleachers between--and probably _during_--classes. He also saw Allison a couple of times, in the hallways mostly. She walked quickly, with her shoulders hunched over and her textbooks pressed against her chest like a shield. He always wanted to say something to her, but she disappeared so quickly that he never had a chance to talk to her. He did keep her drawings, though. The ones she'd dropped on the staircase during lunch that second week after detention. He pinned them on the wall above his desk, right next to his poster of FDR.

Meanwhile, he and Andy were hanging out two or three times a week, playing video games or basketball, sometimes studying. Andy was fighting his way through trigonometry, which Brian was also taking since he was an honor student. He helped him out as best as he could, and it must have been good enough, because in late May Andy graduated from Shermer High School. Brian wasn't there for the ceremony, but late that night, when he was getting ready to go to bed, he heard a knock on his window, and he opened it to find Andy standing in his backyard, wearing his graduation cap.

"What's going on?" Brian asked, confused.

Andy grinned and held up his right hand, which was clutching a six-pack of Budweisers. "Thirsty?"

* * *

"Okay, okay, I got another one. What's the difference between a male snowman and a female snowman?"

They were sitting on the bleachers next to the baseball field, which was right behind the school, so it was hidden from the main road. A dozen empty cans of Budweiser were scattered on the lawn below them.

Brian frowned thoughtfully. "Uh…"

"Snowballs!" Andy exclaimed.

Brian burst out laughing, accidentally spilling some beer onto his hand. When he realized what he'd done, he licked his palm, not wanting to waste a single drop.

"Okay, now you tell another one," said Andy.

Brian shook his head. "I don't know any more."

"Yeah, you do. Come on, man."

Brian started laughing again, even though he wasn't exactly sure why. "Okay, um…" He looked over at Andy. "What do you get if you divide the circumference of a jack-o-lantern by its diameter?"

Andy's eyes widened. "I don't know."

"Pumpkin pi!" Brian shouted, the answer coming out all squeaky since he was already laughing at the punch line.

Andy just stared at him for a moment before he started chuckling to himself. "You're such a nerd," he told him.

This just caused Brian to laugh harder. "I know."

Andy turned around and leaned back onto the seat so that he was lying on his back. "It feels weird that I don't have school anymore."

"Yeah?" Brian figured that he would probably feel the same way when he graduated. He was so used to studying and writing essays and calculating his GPA that he couldn't imagine _not _doing it anymore.

"Yeah," Andy answered. "It's good, but…weird."

Brian took another sip of beer. "How was graduation?"

Andy shrugged. "Boring. We had to sit there for a fucking hour, and we couldn't even move. The guy next to me had headphones." He chuckled. "I wish I'd thought of that."

Brian smiled. "What was he listening to?"

Andy snorted. "I don't know. Heavy metal or something."

Instantly, Brian was reminded of Bender playing air guitar in detention. "Did you, uh…did you see any of the others?"

Andy frowned. "Others?" Then his eyes softened, and he said, "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I saw 'em."

Brian nodded. "Yeah? Who?"

"All three of them."  
"Oh." Brian paused. "Even, uh, even Allison?"

Andy was quiet for a minute. "Yeah, she was there," he said finally.

Brian nodded. He didn't mean to keep pushing, but for some reason he was finding it hard to keep his thoughts to himself. A side effect of the alcohol, no doubt. "Do you still think about her?"

Andy shrugged. "Sometimes. Mostly I just wonder what she's doing…if she's okay."

Brian nodded again. That was how he felt about all of them, too. He just wanted them to be okay. "Yeah."

The two of them were silent for a moment, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Brian said, "I didn't realize Bender was graduating."

Andy laughed. "Me neither. I'll bet Vernon paid somebody off, just to make sure he didn't have to deal with him next year."

Brian started laughing. "Yeah, probably."

Andy took another sip of beer and looked over at him. "So, when you graduate, you're probably going to be valedictorian or something, huh?"

Brian shook his head. "Nope, not anymore."

Andy furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why not?"

Brian took another sip of beer and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. "Because of shop," he said easily, thinking that it was obvious.

"Because of the F?"

Brian nodded. "Fuckin' elephant," he muttered, letting out a little giggle.

Andy let out a light chuckle. "Why'd you make an elephant anyway? You should have made a tiger or something cool like that."

"A tiger?" said Brian. "Why would I want a lamp in the shape of a tiger?"

"Why would you want a lamp in the shape of a fucking elephant?" Andy asked.

"I don't know. I…" Brian tried not to start giggling again and was mildly successful. "I don't know."

Andy finished off the last of his beer and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed on the bleachers a few feet away, clanking loudly against the metal.

"So, whatever happened to the flare gun?" he asked. "You still have it?"

"No," said Brian. "Of course not."

"Your parents have it?"

"No, it melted," Brian explained. "In my locker."

"Melted?" Andy started laughing. "Really?"

His laughter must have been contagious, because Brian started laughing again, too. His stomach was sore from all the moving around. "Yeah, it did."

Andy looked over at him. "You still think about using it?"

Brian was still laughing. "Yeah," he said thoughtlessly.

"Really?" Pause. "When?"

"When my mom starts asking me about school and yelling about my grades." Brian was suddenly struck by a ridiculous image of his mother standing over him waggling her finger in his face, and he dissolved once more into helpless laughter, leaning forward so that he didn't fall over.

"Are you going to do it again?"

Brian shrugged and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Brian."

Brian looked over to see Andy watching him from a few feet away, where he was sprawled out on one of the bleacher rows, lying on his side. He wasn't smiling anymore. Brian felt the laughter die in his throat, and his stomach suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Are you?" Andy asked, more insistently this time.

Brian couldn't tear his eyes away from Andy's face. "I don't know," he admitted.

Andy's eyes were narrowed, and he was staring at Brian through his eyelashes. He pursed his lips together, and Brian found himself wondering if Andy's mouth tasted like Budweiser. If he kissed him, would he be able to tell? His own mouth probably tasted like beer, too, so how would he be able to tell the difference between--

Oh, god.

"How often do you think about it?"

Brian looked up quickly. "What?" he asked, panicked.

"How often do you think about it?" Andy repeated, frowning slightly.

Oh, right. The flare gun. Brian's head was swimming with dumb responses, and he closed his eyes to fend off the confusion. The flare gun. Kissing Andy. Blood and beer and breath and tears--

"Are you okay, man?"

Brian opened his eyes to see that Andy was still watching him, obviously concerned. His lips were parted slightly, wet from the alcohol.

"I'm drunk," Brian confessed. Whether he was talking to himself or Andy, he couldn't be sure.

Andy let out a sharp chuckle. "Me, too." He leaned back against the bench again, tilting his head back so that he could look up at the sky. Brian watched him, swallowing deeply when Andy reached up to run a hand over his stomach. His thoughts were racing, colliding into one another like bumper cars, and he knew that any minute he was probably going to blurt out something stupid since apparently the alcohol had eroded the filter between his brain and his mouth. He took another sip of beer, just to keep himself from talking.

"Hey," said Andy suddenly.

Brian looked over, still distracted by his own thoughts. "Yeah?"

Andy turned over to look at him, and Brian could see that he was smiling. "Know anymore math jokes?"

* * *

That summer, Andy and Brian hung out as much as they could, which wasn't very often. Andy was making frequent trips to Ohio to meet with his new coach and get his knee looked at, while Brian ended up stuck at his house, babysitting his little sister while his parents were at work. Friday afternoons at Burger King were still a sacred ritual, unless Andy was out of town. They also saw one another on the weekends, when they would go out to the baseball fields, finish off a six-pack, and tell one another stupid jokes.

But, as fun as they were, those trips made Brian more nervous than he wanted to admit. Every time they went out to the baseball field together, he worried about how much alcohol he was drinking and what kind of effect it was having on his ability to keep his mouth shut. Because there were some things that Brian could never tell Andy. After that first night on the baseball field when he wondered what Andy's mouth tasted like, his thoughts about Andy had grown more and more disconcerting. At first, he'd believed that it was the beer that made him think such ridiculous--and, frankly, disturbing--thoughts about his friend, but then it started happening when he was sober, too. Suddenly, he was intensely aware of how close they were standing, of the tone of Andy's voice and even his smell. He would catch himself staring at Andy's face and arms and hands, studying the details he hadn't noticed before. Apparently, a few beers had opened Pandora's Box, and it was impossible to stuff those feelings back inside, even though he tried.

Fortunately, Andy didn't seem to notice the change in his behavior. Brian wasn't sure if that was because he was doing an adequate job of hiding his growing feelings or if Andy was just too distracted by his own issues, of which there were many. In June, his knee started acting up again, and it didn't get any better. His father believed that Andy was just making excuses so that he wouldn't have to train, but Mrs. Clark wasn't as convinced. So, on a Saturday in the middle of July, Andy and his mother went into Chicago to see a surgeon, and they ended up staying in the city for a night. Brian didn't know how long he would be gone, or when he would see him again, so when Andy showed up on his doorstep on Sunday night, he was surprised.

"Can I come in?"

Brian nodded and moved aside so that Andy could step inside. "Sure. Are you hungry? We just ate, but there's some spaghetti left, if you want some."

Andy shook his head. "That's okay." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Brian paused. "Do you, uh, do you want to play video games?"

Andy shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

Brian led him back to his bedroom and shut the door behind them. He started getting the game ready, then turned back to see Andy sprawled out on his bed, hands resting on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. Brian stopped messing with the game console and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

"I may have to have surgery on my knee," Andy said finally.

Brian didn't know what to say to that. "Oh."

Andy kept staring up at the ceiling. "If I do, I won't be able to wrestle again for a few months. I'll be doing physical therapy until it heals."

Brian nodded slowly. "Whatever you have to do, you know, to make sure it doesn't get worse."

Andy didn't say anything to that. Brian could see his chest rising and falling with each measured breath.

After a few minutes, Andy said, "While we were gone, my dad found a six-pack under my bed."

Brian paused. "What did he do?"

Andy shrugged. "What _can_ he do, ground me? I'm leaving in a month."

Brian nodded, but he knew that there was something else. "What did he say?"

Andy was quiet for a minute. Then, "He said that I was gonna fuck everything up if I didn't learn some self-control."

Brian's stomach turned over. "Oh."

Andy turned his head so that he could look at Brian. "Remember, in detention, when Allison said that your heart dies when you get older?"

Detention seemed like such a long time ago, but Brian didn't think that it was possible to forget anything about that day. "Yeah," he responded.

Andy released a shallow breath, and his eyes grew dark. "Do you think that's true?"

Brian shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Andy nodded slowly. "Do you think I'm going to be like my dad?"

"No." Brian didn't even have to think about it. "You're not."

Andy clenched his jaw, but his eyes never left Brian's. The expression on his face was so determined, almost violently so, and there was something in his eyes that Brian had never seen before. Something fierce and tender all at the same time. Something that didn't even have a name. Brian felt like someone had lit a match inside of his stomach.

After a few seconds, Andy turned his head so that he was facing the ceiling again, staring up at the planet mobile above Brian's bed, and Brian remembered to breathe again.

* * *

As it turned out, Andy didn't have to have surgery. His doctor recommended him to a reputable physical therapist in Chicago, and Andy drove out to visit him twice a week for the rest of the summer.

Which was flying by. Brian was hardly aware that July had passed until they were well into August and his mother started talking about back-to-school shopping. Andy was scheduled to leave on the 25th of the month, about a week before classes started. Brian tried not to dread Andy's impending departure, but it was hard. Andy had become the closest thing to a best friend that he'd ever had, and he was the only person that he felt like he could really trust. He'd tried to imagine his senior year without Andy, tried to imagine the Physics club meetings and lunch at the nerd table and nights doing homework at his desk. Somehow, even though it was essentially what his life was like before detention, it felt empty without Andy. It was funny how someone could become such a huge part of his life in such a short period of time.

One afternoon, he was sitting at the kitchen table eating an apple with peanut butter, staring blankly out the window and thinking about Andy. He didn't even notice that his little sister was standing there until he felt her fingers brush against his. Startled, he looked up to see her take a bite out of one of the apple slices that she'd taken from his plate.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, mouth full of mushed up apple.

Immediately, Brian thought of eating dinner with Andy at Burger King that first Friday after detention, when Andy would ask him questions before he'd finished swallowing his food. "Nothing," he said quietly.

Morgan studied him carefully for a moment, chewing the last of the apple slice. "You look sad."

"I'm not sad," he told her tiredly.

Morgan frowned doubtfully. "Then why are your eyes like that?"

"Like what?"

Morgan stood on her tiptoes and pushed her sticky fingers against Brian's cheek, tugging softly at the skin below his eyes. Brian felt something pulling at his stomach, and he reached up to gently pull her hand away. Morgan didn't say anything else, just sighed. She picked up another apple slice from Brian's plate and ran off to play with her Barbies or stuffed animals or something. Brian let out a deep breath and looked back out the window.

On Friday, August 24th, the day before he left for college, Andy picked Brian up in his Bronco and drove them to Burger King.

"It's funny to see what you order now."

Brian looked down at his tray, which was almost as full as Andy's, and chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Andy picked up his cheeseburger and took a big bite. When he'd swallowed it, he said, "I talked to my roommate today."

Brian looked up. "Oh…what is he like?"

Andy shrugged. "He seems nice. He's from Georgia."

Brian nodded. "That's good."

"He's a basketball player, on scholarship like me. He led his team to a state championship last year."

Brian nodded again, but for some reason his stomach was twisted up in knots. "Wow, that's…"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence. Brian watched Andy work his way through his tray, one item at a time. After five months, he'd learned Andy's eating habits. First the burger, then the nuggets. The fries and onion rings came last, and he would alternate between them until he'd finished everything off. Barbeque sauce and ranch dressing were his favorite sauces. Brian wondered if they even had barbeque sauce in Ohio.

"So, what classes are you taking this year?"

Brian looked up. "Oh, uh…Calculus, Physics II, Chemistry II. There's also this new class, an elective. It's European Literature since 1700. It, uh, it should be really interesting."

Andy, who had grown accustomed to his dorkiness over the months, didn't even bat an eye at this. "Are you excited?"

Brian shrugged. "I don't know…"

Andy frowned. "Why not?"

Brian sighed. "I just don't think I'm ready to go back."

"You're not taking shop again, are you?"

Brian allowed himself a soft smile. "No."

Andy grinned and took another bite of his burger. "So, why don't you feel ready?" he asked, not even bothering to swallow his food first. "You like all of those subjects, right?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah, sure, I just…"

"You just what?" Andy prodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What is it?"

Brian swallowed deeply, watching Andy closely. The words were on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken, but his mouth felt dry and he had a feeling that even soda wouldn't help.

Because there was something--and he didn't know exactly what--that he wanted to say to Andy. Something that, if he wasn't such a chicken and could say it out loud, might have freaked both of them out, and more than just a little bit. Something about how much he liked eating chicken nuggets and French fries with him. About how much he appreciated that Andy had told the truth that day that in detention when he'd promised not to cut Brian up behind his back. About how proud he was that Andy had managed not to be like his dad. But mostly, if he had the guts, he wanted to tell him how much he was going to miss him. Because he _was_ going to miss him…a lot. So much that his chest hurt when he thought about Andy leaving, so much that he wondered how he was going to get through his senior year without him. So much that it felt like someone was about to cut off one of his arms or legs and he was just expected to sit there and pretend that it didn't hurt.

But Brian _was_ a chicken, and he didn't have the guts to say any of that.

"I just, uh…I just don't want summer to be over, you know?" he told him. "It's nice not having to do anything."

Andy laughed and picked up a French fry. "Yeah, I definitely understand that."

Brian let out a deep breath, a little bit relieved and little bit not. "Yeah."

Andy opened another package of barbeque sauce and started talking about his which classes he was dreading, which was pretty much all of them. Brian waited for another good time to jump in and tell Andy what he'd been wanting to tell him for a very long time, but of course that moment never came. He sat in that booth, and he listened to Andy talk about college and dorm food and wrestling, and he didn't say a single word.

And that was that.

* * *

That night, it rained. Not too hard, but just enough to water Mr. Johnson's vegetable garden and fill Brian's little sister's blow-up pool with grimy rainwater.

At about eleven o'clock, Brian was sitting on his bed reading a detective novel. He'd never read it before, and the plot was really juicy, but he might as well have been reading Ladies' Home Journal, because he couldn't concentrate on any of it. He was just about to give up and turn out the light when he heard something knocking against his window.

His heart skipped a little beat, and he leaned over to pull back the curtains. It was dark outside, but he could just make out Andy's face, drenched with rain. A six-pack of Budweisers was dangling from his left hand.

They drove out to the baseball field in silence, with Brian sneaking worried glances over at Andy, who had already started drinking. Brian was tempted to remind him of exactly how many state laws he was breaking by doing so, but the stern expression on Andy's face told him that it was probably best to just keep quiet.

When they got to the field, Andy jumped out of the cab and slammed the door shut behind him. Brian followed him out to the bleachers, where Andy had dumped the six-pack. "Here," he said, holding one out for Brian to take.

"Thanks," Brian said quietly, taking the can from him. He didn't move to open it.

Andy took one last swig from his beer and tossed the can under the bleachers. Then he popped open another one and walked over to the chain link fence in front of the dugout. Brian watched him, waiting.

"You know how long I've been trying to please him?" Andy said finally.

Brian's mouth opened, but there was nothing to say.

"Eighteen fucking years!" Andy shouted. "Eighteen fucking--" He kicked the chain link fence, and it snapped back roughly, waving back and forth.

"Andy…" Brian stepped forward, abandoning his unopened beer on the bleachers.

But Andy wasn't listening. He walked out onto the field toward home plate and kicked at the base, sending flecks of mud flying everywhere. Some beer sloshed onto his sleeve and onto the ground. Tentatively, Brian followed him, keeping some distance between them.

"I tried to talk to him," Andy said finally. "My last night home, I tried to…" He shook his head. "He told me to grow up and focus." He scoffed bitterly. "Grow up," he muttered, so quietly that Brian almost didn't hear him.

Brian took another step towards him. "Andy…" he started again.

"Fucking bastard!" Andy shouted. "Always so fucking…" He took an angry, ragged breath. "I hate him! I fucking _hate _him!"

Brian stood a few feet away, feeling helpless and even a little bit scared. He knew Andy wouldn't ever hit him, but part of him, as much as he hated himself for it, remembered Andy's attack on Larry Lester, and he stayed a few feet back.

Andy threw his can of beer against the chain link fence, and it splattered everywhere, all over Andy and the ground beneath him. Andy didn't seem to notice, as he kicked home plate again, his breaths coming out in sobs of anger.

Then, after a few seconds, Andy looked back at Brian, who still hadn't moved. His body became very still, and he slumped forward a bit as if all of the energy had left his body. His shoulders were still rising and falling, but his breathing was growing more regular. Brian could see Andy's eyes, not angry anymore, but kind of soft and dark, like smudged coal. Andy took a step towards him, then another.

And then Andy was kissing him, hard. Surprised, Brian stumbled back, knocking into the chain link fence behind the first base line. Andy grabbed a handful of his damp t-shirt and pushed him harder against the fence, leaning forward to kiss him again. The metal wires dug roughly into Brian's back, but he hardly noticed. He was too consumed with the way Andy's mouth fit against his, with the slight bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue and on his breath. He pushed his fingers through Andy's wet hair and pulled him closer, desperate to touch more of him. His stomach was on fire, his whole body was melting, and, god, it was so good. Nothing could have prepared him for how good it felt, for how _right_ it was. It felt like someone had reattached a limb he hadn't realized he was missing, and he suddenly didn't know how he'd managed so long without it.

After a few seconds, Andy pulled away, and Brian sucked in a deep breath, dizzy with disappointment. They stared at one another for a long time, both breathing heavily.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Brian confessed stupidly. "I thought about it. I--" His breath caught in his throat. "I _wanted_…"

Andy didn't say anything, just watched him fiercely as the rain from his hair dripped down onto his face. Just as Brian was starting to think that maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, Andy leaned forward and kissed him again.

This time was slower, less urgent, but the need was still there, throbbing just below the surface. Andy's hands were at Brian's waist, thumbs digging into his stomach to keep him pushed back against the fence. Brian's fingers tangled through Andy's hair again. Their noses collided, and Andy pulled back slightly, breathing raggedly into Brian's mouth. Brian felt a jolt in his stomach, and he wondered if Andy, with his thumbs pressed against his abdomen, could feel it, too.

Then Andy reached up and ran his wet palm over Brian's throat, and it was all Brian could do not to start babbling against Andy's mouth and tell him everything, oh everything. About how good Andy smelled and how warm Brian felt and a million other little things that he couldn't even begin to describe, but they were fighting their way through his stomach, up his vocal cords, and the best he could do was let out a little choking sound and kiss him harder, because Andy was leaving tomorrow, for god knows how long, and what the hell could he say that was going to change that anyway?

* * *

The two of them stayed on the baseball field all night, talking sometimes, but mostly not. Just before dawn, Andy dropped Brian off at his house, and Brian climbed through his bedroom window, smudging the sill with mud from the bottom of his shoes.

At eight o'clock that morning, Andy left for Columbus. Brian watched the numbers on his alarm clock flip from 7:56 to 7:57 to 7:58, but he stopped watching when it got to 7:59, because his stomach was already churning and he was worried that he might throw up in his own bed. He turned over on his side, away from his nightstand, and pulled the sheet over his head.

* * *

He didn't expect him to call. He hoped, he _prayed_, but he didn't do anything ridiculous like expect.

So, when three weeks passed without hearing a word, Brian pretended that it didn't bother him. It was a little bit easier that way, even if it still hurt. School started again, and he threw himself into his work. His mother was pleased, but he wasn't doing it for her. It was a distraction, a way to keep himself occupied, and for once in his life, he was grateful for homework.

On Saturday afternoon, exactly three weeks after Andy left for Ohio, Brian was sitting in his room doing his homework. It was cold and sunny outside, and he had his curtains open to let in the light. The only sound was coming from his pencil flying across the paper, scratching out numbers and symbols.

"Brian." There was a knock on his door. "The phone is for you."

He hadn't even heard it ring. "Okay," he told her, putting his pencil down and standing up from his chair. "I'm coming."

He followed his mother into the kitchen and picked up the phone that hung on the wall in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room. "Hello?"

"Brian?"

Pure, reckless joy washed over him. "Hey."

Andy cleared his throat. "What's, uh…what's goin' on?" It was so good to hear his voice.

"Nothing," said Brian. "Just doing some homework, you know? Studying. What about…what about you?"

"Oh." Andy paused, and Brian could hear him moving around. "A lot of stuff, I guess."

"Yeah." Brian nodded. "How is school?"

"It's okay," said Andy. "Classes are tough. I'm taking Calculus, and I kinda wish you were here to help."

Brian's lips curled into a smile, despite his best efforts to keep his expression under control. "Yeah, too bad," he said mildly.

There was a moment of silence, an awkward one, and Brian rushed to fill it. "What about wrestling?"

"It's alright. The coach works us hard, but the guys on my team are nice."

Brian felt a surge of envy, which was stupid and selfish, because he wanted Andy to be happy, and he wanted him to have friends. "I'm glad," he managed to say.

"Yeah," said Andy.

Before Brian could respond or ask another question, there was a loud commotion on Andy's end of the line, and Brian could hear a bunch of people talking all at once.

"What are you doing?" someone shouted.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing? I'm talking on the phone," Andy answered. "Sorry," he muttered, this time to Brian.

"It's okay," Brian answered hesitantly. "Do you have to go?"

"Uh…no, not yet."

Brian nodded, but he was starting to feel desperate that Andy was going to hang up shortly and that he wasn't ever going to call back. "So, uh…how are you?"

"Fine." But there was something guarded about Andy's tone, and Brian knew that he was holding back. On Andy's end, someone let out a string of obscenities, and then someone else started laughing. In the kitchen a few feet away, Brian's mother cleared her throat and reached for a knife to chop vegetables with.

"That's good," said Brian.

"Yeah." Pause. "What about you? Everything good with you?"

_No, I miss you. _Brian sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, everything's good."

"That's good," said Andy, his voice giving nothing away.

Then someone yelled, "Hey, Clark! I'm starving. Let's go!"

Brian felt his stomach turn over at the thought of hanging up, but he pushed the feeling away. "Guess you have to go."

"Yeah." There was a rustling sound on Andy's end, followed by a few seconds of silence. Brian could still hear the other guys talking loudly in the background.

"Well…" said Brian.

There was a pause, and Brian could hear Andy breathing. "Brian," he choked out.

Brian closed his eyes as a wave of emotion swept over him, threatening to knock him over from the inside out. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "Yeah."

* * *

**A/N: **Like I said before, this was just a one-shot, but I do have a sequel one-shot in the works. It will definitely be rated M, so be aware of that if you come back later looking for it. You can also put me on your author alerts so that you receive an email whenever I post a new story or update one of my series. 

Thank you for reading. Please review.


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